


Life Changing Moment

by KyraDragon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anchors, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Derek Hale is Stiles Stilinski's Anchor, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyraDragon/pseuds/KyraDragon
Summary: There are things in your life that change the entire course of how your life would have been. Singular moments that take you from Path A, hop three tracks, and suddenly you’re on Path D. A lot of people would think that Stiles’ “Life Changing Moment” would have been when Scott was bitten. True, it was a “Major Event” but that was Scott’s moment, not his.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 20
Kudos: 349





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whenshewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/gifts), [circa (stealthturtle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealthturtle/gifts).



> I would like to dedicate this fic to Rachel and Circa for being so, so supportive! You two are the best!

There are things in your life that change the entire course of how your life would have been. Singular moments that take you from Path A, hop three tracks, and suddenly you’re on Path D. A lot of people would think that Stiles’ “Life Changing Moment” would have been when Scott was bitten. True, it was a “Major Event” but that was Scott’s moment, not his. No, not a whole lot actually changed in his life when Scott was bit; he was still following or dragging his best friend into stupid situations, he was still listening to the police scanner, he was still trying to solve crimes. Sure, he met Beacon Hill’s resident grouchy wolf, he got possessed by a demonic fox spirit that he still hears the voices of sometimes in his dreams. He’s watched friends come and go, some willingly and some killed. But no, through all of that Stiles rolled with the punches and didn’t consider his life fundamentally changed. 

No, Stiles would define his “Life Changing Moment” when he and Derek got out of the truck, Derek was shot, Stiles had to go save Scott, and he came back out of the cave an hour later, having recovered from being thrown against a wall and knocked out after his head hit a rock, and being told that Derek had been killed by the hunters.

He had stood there, glued in place. He knew it was serious. Derek told him to go. Stiles knew he should have stayed. Derek told him to go. Stiles turned back one more time. And Derek told him to go.

He had stopped hearing the voices of his friends, he couldn’t listen to what they were saying, even if he had wanted to. His chest suddenly felt like it was in a vice, his deep brown eyes stung but no amount of blinking made it stop. He had gripped his head and knew a panic attack was coming at him like a hurricane. He had found a truck to hide behind while he focused on trying to breathe. Breathe, Stiles. But Derek is dead. Breathe, Stiles. I left Derek to die. Breathe, Stiles. 

This time when he heard it in his head it was Derek’s voice.

‘Breathe, Stiles.’ His head-Derek told him again.

And he started to. His pulse slowed; his breathing leveled out. Sounds started coming back to him and he heard Scott talking with Kira, heard everyone checking on each other to make sure their loved ones were okay. Stiles didn’t hear anyone talk about Derek. No one was there for Derek. His bounty hunter booty call had left as soon as the threat was taken care of and didn’t care to stick around to check on the rest of the pack. 

Stiles hadn’t stuck around much after that. He got in his Jeep without saying much to anyone else, and started back north to California. Scott had called his phone once or twice, but Stiles didn’t care. He was feeling numb, thinking of all the things he could have done differently, would have done differently, should have done differently. 

He had gotten home late, or early, depending on how you look at it, and crawled straight into bed. His dad was still asleep and he was glad he didn’t have to answer twenty questions. He didn’t remember when he started crying, or when he finally passed out, but when he woke his pillow was wet and the sun was glaring at him through the window. 

He got up to close the curtains and paused at the windowsill. He noticed the claw marks, from when Derek had snuck into his room to hide from the authorities. Or it could have been when Derek snuck into his room when his dad was still home to discuss the events after the Kanima. Derek had been in his room a lot over that summer. Scott had been busy with Allison, Lydia was spending what little time she had with Jackson before he left for Europe. His dad had been buried under a pile of paperwork from all the murders and trying to cover up what he could and explain away what he couldn’t. And Derek? Derek was over more times than Stiles had bothered to keep count of. Sometimes they talked about what new information could be added to the bestiary. Other times they talked about the pool and how no, Stiles didn’t just keep him alive to fight the Kanima. And other times they just turned on a movie and enjoyed the company of the other. Stiles also knew that Derek had been in his room more than once during his possession of the Nogitsune. He didn’t smell it, the way the wolves could, when he got back home, but he felt it. He felt Derek’s presence. 

He slammed the window shut and turned around, holding his arms to prevent another panic attack from setting in. 

‘Breathe, Stiles.’

Once he had composed himself again, he turned back to the window, opened it, pulled the curtains to block out the sun, and crawled right back into bed. 

He left the window open just in case…

Just in case.

___

The last two months of school both went by in a blur and crawled like a snail. Stiles kept his window open every night.

Just in case.

But woke up every morning alone, with nothing there except his thoughts. 

He blamed himself for Derek’s death. If he had been there, he could have made sure Derek made it. If Derek trusted him more, maybe he would have told Stiles that he was losing his werewolf mojo. Peter, of all wolves, told him about it about two weeks After. He hadn’t stopped by as Derek used to, but sent a text to tell him and ignored the flurry of texts Stiles had sent him in return. Stiles had tried to stop by the loft but it was empty. Peter must have had it picked up because all Stiles found was a few pieces of furniture covered in white sheets. He hadn’t changed the locks, though, as Stiles’ key still worked. Derek had given him that key over the summer after Jackson, and Stiles had known better than to abuse the privilege. 

Aside from the text, no one had heard from Peter. They didn’t forget how he had challenged Scott and tried to take the Alpha spark from him, and Peter had not stuck around to see if he was still welcome in their makeshift pack.

Stiles avoided talking to Scott. It’s not that he blamed his best friend for what happened…no one could have known Kate was going to try to turn him into one of her bone killing machines…but Stiles could blame him for his lack of caring that Derek was dead. He was always so wrapped up in his girlfriend; first Allison, then Kira. They were really all that mattered to the teenage Alpha. Stiles had broken up with Malia a week After. He wasn’t in a place to be dating, and she still had her own issues to work through. Besides, he seemed a little more friendly with Kira after Mexico and Scott didn’t seem to mind. Stiles was pretty sure that Scott had a thing for Malia, but Stiles just couldn’t bring himself to care. He probably should, since Scott had kissed Lydia when Stiles still loved her, and now Scott seemed to be eyeing his ex, but relationships just seemed so…trivial. 

Stiles knew he should probably go to therapy, but how would he even begin to discuss things? He wouldn’t be able to tell them what really happened, what led up to the death, how it affected him. He wouldn’t be able to explain the undeniable pull of pack or the crushing feeling when one was taken. Like Boyd. Like Erica. Like Allison. Derek couldn’t be just another name among the casualties of Beacon Hills. 

He wouldn’t let it be. 

The anger, and resentment, and pain grew in him. So much pain. He decided he would not just be a liability anymore. If he had been stronger, deadlier, smarter. Then maybe. Just maybe. 

His dad allowed him to install a punching bag in his room without too many questions. Stiles explained it away by saying he wanted to get stronger for lacrosse. He poured his pain into that punching bag. Hitting it until his knuckles bled. Wrapping his knuckles and hitting it some more. 

Then he got the gun.

He was over at Derek’s loft one day, just needing space to think and cry and rage. It’s not that he was necessarily going through Derek’s things…he was just curious what all was left behind. He opened one of the drawers and found the Glock 17. He remembered how he asked if he should have a gun, and flailed when it was tossed to him. Never again.

He spent all of the daylight hours of summer vacation at the range. Where he had poured his pain into the punching bag, he poured his rage into the range. By the time summer vacation ended, he finally stopped blaming himself. No. He blamed the hunters, who constantly broke a code they said they lived by. He blamed the rogue wolves, who hunted humans and other wolves for fun. 

He made a decision about how he wanted to live, and that wasn’t going to be in fear.


	2. Chapter 2

~18 Months Later~ 

Stiles opened his eyes as the sun peaked in through the curtains. He sighed, groaned, and sat up with his feet on the floor. He got up and closed the window, cutting off the cool breeze that made him sleep with an extra blanket during the winter months. He sighed again and walked barefoot over to his computer. He had a new message.

From the hunters.

His vision focused and he opened the encrypted message. He read it quickly and smirked. They were interested in meeting him. Finally. After six months of back and forth they finally trusted him enough to meet. He shot back his response; how he would love a meeting with one of the hunter districts heads. How he was excited to join the ranks to hunt down the dogs of society who disguise themselves as people. 

This particular hunter lead the Southern California hunters and was one of Monroe’s. She came to Beacon Hills after Stiles had already left, but Scott filled him in on her during one of their monthly check ups. Granted, most of what he told Scott was a flat out lie when they spoke, but Stiles didn’t really care. 

What he told Scott he had been doing the last 18 months: doing to a university in New York, applying for the FBI or local law enforcement to be like his dad.

What he had actually been doing: training. He taught himself how to shoot, throw knives, use his Spark, and fight. He was no longer the skinny 147 lbs of pale skin and fragile bones but instead weighed about 170 lbs of lean muscle and deadly skills. So far, he had taken out three omega wolf packs who had stalked Southern California, Arizona, and the north of Mexico, had exposed of thirteen individual rogue wolves who hunted humans for sport, and he had also taken out two of Monroe’s hunter cells. 

He was good at what he did. 

He worked with honourable hunters to find the rogue wolves and worked with respectable wolf packs to find the rogue hunters. It worked out for everyone. He never used his own name and between the stubble and ear-length hair that he usually kept swept back, he didn’t think anyone would have been able to recognize him even if they had met him from his days in Beacon Hills. Not that he was anyone worth knowing back then, just the tolken human in a wolf pack. 

Stiles rubbed the triskelion tattoo he got about six months ago on the right side of his neck. It was fully healed, and didn’t hurt anymore, but he liked to touch it as a reminder. A reminder of why he was doing this, a reminder about what was lost, a reminder of Derek. 

As he got up, he quickly picked up one of his throwing knives and launched it at his closet door, where it stuck to a picture of Kate. She was long dead, but it made him feel good, and it helped him make sure to practice. 

Stiles threw a dark blue, long sleeve shirt on, along with some cargo pants. He packed his usual assortment of weapons and headed out the door. It was time to hunt some hunters.   
____

Stiles had a Starbucks coffee in one hand and a burner cellphone in the other. He stepped off of the little ferry boat he had taken to the coast of Mexico and was thankful for the dark sunglasses that blocked the afternoon eyes from his eyes. 

Almost as soon as he stepped off the ferry, he got a text: A taxi is pulling up, get in it.

He looked up and saw the white and pink Honda pull up in front of him. He thanked the ferry staff, grabbed his bag, and headed to the taxi. He checked his phone once he got himself situated, but no new text came through. 

“Don’t worry,” the taxi driver spoke in Spanish, “I know where we’re going.”

Stiles thanked him and looked out the window, sipping his coffee as he watched the houses and businesses pass. It took about ten minutes until the taxi stopped and instructed him to get out. Stiles thanked the man, grabbed his bag, and watched as the taxi drove away. He turned around and saw a man approaching him. 

“Miguel?” The man asked. He must have been in his 40’s to 50’s with greying hair, a medium build, and a small beard. 

“That’s me.” Stiles responded. 

“Come with me.” And the man turned around, expecting Stiles to comply without question. And he did.

They walked into a small, unmarked house a little from where he was dropped off. As he walked in the house, Stiles kept his sunglasses on and his eyes quickly darted about, counting about five hunters. He knew there were bound to be more in the house, but liked knowing where the ones in sight were. 

“So, Miguel,” the man began. “We understand that you’re looking to join the hunters?” 

“Yes sir,” Stiles began, “I had a husband killed and want to take out the beasts responsible for it.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. How long ago did that happen?” 

“Almost two years.” 

“You do not wear your ring?”

Stiles looked down at his hand before clenching it. “We, uh, hadn’t gotten married yet.” He knew he forgot something when he left the hotel that morning. It was probably sitting on the bathroom sink, forgotten when he spent half an hour applying skin-tone makeup over his tattoo. He didn’t regret getting it, would never regret it, it just getting ready for hunter encounters take a little longer. Ironically enough, he had made conversing with the wolf packs easier, since they recognized the mark of a Hale.

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, I call him my husband, but we were still a few months away from the actual wedding.” 

The hunter eyed him but turned away. 

Stiles sighed once, let go of his coffee cup, and before it hit the ground, he had a knife sticking half way into the man’s neck. The other hunters started to move, but Stiles dropped down into a kneeling position and had his Glock in hand. He emptied it into the hunters he could see, and as he rotated around dropped the empty mag, slammed a new one in, and loaded a round into the chamber within the span of a second. He emptied the second clip into the hunters who came running down the stairs. 

The dust cleared and a gasping sound broke the silence. Stiles turned around and saw his contact on the floor, in a puddle of his own blood, gasping for air. Stiles walked over to him and put a new mag in his gun.

“Can’t believe I forgot the god damn ring.” He said before emptying the entire magazine into the man. “It’s always something.” He grabbed the bag off of the floor and started to head towards the door. Some papers on a table caught his attention and he turned to look at it. He saw “Rogue Wolf” in red, which caused him to pick it up. 

“Must be a new hit card,” Stiles said to the bodies, “Thanks. Saves me the trouble of finding my next job.” And with that, Stiles stepped over a body or two and headed out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles had to give it to the wolf, it was certainly clever. From the information he had gathered so far, it was a full-shift omega wolf with jet black fur and piercing red eyes. Blue eyes. He touched his triskelion. All the wolves he killed had either blue or red eyes but that never made it any easier. Every time he looked into the wolves eyes, he was reminded of Derek. Blue, when Derek was a Beta, and red when Derek was an Alpha. His Alpha. Sure, Scott had been a true Alpha and all that jazz, but Stiles never felt like Scott’s pack. When Cora was in town, during the shit storm that was Jennifer, Peter had tried to convince Derek to give up the Alpha spark. Derek had consulted with Stiles and they came to the conclusion that Peter was probably going to try and steal it with Cora. If that was true or not, they would never 

He had followed the trail from northern Mexico, up to Arizona. Stiles was close in Tucson, but just barely missed him. He had taken a risky sniper shot but by the time he got over to where his target was, all he found was some black fur on the ground. “Fuck.” Was all Stiles had to say before heading out. He knew the wolf wouldn’t stay in one place too long, and it never shifted into human form. Whomever she was, she was smart. Or feral. Maybe both? Stiles wasn’t too familiar with full shift wolves, and had only met one in the time he had been hunting. She had been an old wolf, with beautiful golden eyes. She told Stiles that only old blood could full shift, and that Talia, Derek’s mother, had been one of the rare ones with the ability to. This wolf Stiles was hunting now reminded him of the old wolf’s description of Talia, which only made him think of Derek. 

‘Breathe, Stiles.’ His inner Derek reminded him, and he fought off the start of the panic attack.

The panic attacks were never easy when they were triggered by memories of Derek, but the Derek in his head always reminded him to breathe and he eventually recovered. Stiles found it ironic, however, that he never seemed to get them while on a hunt. He wondered if it was his ADHD brain going into hyperdrive to help keep him alive, or if it was because back in Beacon Hills, any time Stiles was in danger Derek had been there to save him, and his mind connected surviving with Derek. 

Derek was right. 

Years ago, Derek had told him, “You need me to survive which is why you’re not letting me go.”

If only Derek knew how right he had been.

At least one of them had to survive. 

___

Stiles tracked the black wolf from Arizona through New Mexico, having another close encounter that resulted in Stiles having to explain to the New Mexico Wildlife and Fisheries agents that no, he wasn’t hunting in a federal preserve. No, he would never bring guns into the preserve with the intention of hunting. They were for protection, he swore. He ended up running.

Lucky or him, he was very familiar with running through forests. He lost the agents after about half an hour and kept going. He knew better than to stop once you think they aren’t after you anymore. No. He was going to keep going and make sure he was in the clear. It was dark, cold, and he had been chasing this damn wolf for three months now. He wasn’t homesick, since to him home died with Derek, but it would be nice to not sleep outside or in hotel beds for a few days. 

Stiles spent the night in a small cave. He didn’t dare light a fire, in case it alerted the agents or any werewolves that might be in the area. When he knew where he was hunting he would give the local pack a heads up, just as a courtesy, and so he wasn’t mistaken as a hunter or as trespassing, but his intel on where the black wolf was was fleeting and he had to move quickly so he didn’t have time to research the local pack or contact them. Honestly, he didn’t know a human could be considered as trespassing until about a year ago, when he was ambushed and the local alpha told him to notify them next time; that while he may be human he was part of a pack. 

Stiles had tried to say that no, he no longer had a pack, as his Alpha had died. The Alpha had tilted his head, looked confused, and just told him not to trespass again. 

Stiles laid down on the cold, damn ground, glad for the dark and solitude so no one could see him silently crying himself to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

He caught the trail of the wolf a few days later and headed back to California. He was in Beacon Hills county, but not within city limits itself yet. They were actually getting pretty damn close to the Hale house. Stiles saw the wolf tracks and tracked them closely. He kept an eye and ear out for the wolf itself, as these tracks were fresh. It was different when Stiles was hunting an omega or beta. He had been ambushed by one a few months back and it actually managed to get a good bite on his arm before he threw the mountain ash to circle it and shot it in the head. Beta bites? He can handle Beta bites. They hurt like a bitch but no long-term damage. Alpha bites though? He can’t risk one of those. 

He’d been offered the bite once, by Peter, but had turned it down. He hadn’t wanted to be one of Peter’s wolves. Then at the hospital, before his CAT scan, Scott had said if he had it, he’d do something. Stiles isn’t honestly sure if Scott had meant it, with how adamant he was about not creating any Betas. And he never got the chance to talk to Derek about the bite before the Nogitsune had completely taken over. They hadn’t talked about the bite after everything cooled off because the CAT scan had been a lie. He didn’t have anything wrong with him and that was that. 

So, Stiles had to stay on his toes. If Derek didn’t bite him, there was no way he was going to let some full shift omega mutt do it. 

He heard a rustling to his right and had his gun out and pointed before he could process anything else. And there, right in his sights, was the most fearsome squirrel Stiles had ever seen. It twitched its tail twice before dashing off.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, pulling the gun back, “I’m an idiot.” He turned his head forward again just in time to see the large, black wolf charging right at him, not five feet away. It slammed into him and Stiles fell onto his back, but his gun was in hand and pressed against the side of the wolf’s head at the same time that the wolf had it’s teeth pressed against the side of Stiles’ neck, ready to bite down. They were at a stalemate, and Stiles could feel the wolf’s warm breath against his neck, could feel the rise and fall of its chest. It took a few deep inhales and Stiles was sure he was dinner.

The wolf lifted its head ever so slowly, just about an inch up and was staring down at him. Stiles could do nothing except hold his breath. He should be dead by now. No feral wolf has ever hesitated or passed up the chance to try and kill him. 

Then suddenly Stiles felt a warm, wet push on the side of his neck and – “Did you just lick me…?” 

The wolf did it again. Running its tongue over his neck and Stiles squirmed. “Okay, look miss, I don’t know what – “ He was cut off by a threatening growl. “Oh! Okay! Not miss. Well look dude, I don’t know what you’re getting at here but – “ he was cut off again but this time by all the air getting knocked out of his lungs as the definitely not she-wolf dropped its weight onto his chest and rubbed its face onto Stiles’ neck where it – he – had licked him. 

The arm that held the gun dropped onto the ground; gun temporarily forgotten as Stiles was taken back. He – he didn’t seem to be in any real danger, unless the wolf planned on trying to suffocate him with cuddles. He heard it start making happy yip like sounds one would expect from a puppy, not from a 200 lbs beast of a wolf. 

It was getting more excited, more forceful in its cuddles. “Okay, okay, okay – stop! I gotta breathe, dude!” He said, pushing on the wolf’s chest to try and get some space. The wolf wined at him but backed off. 

“Okay, look, I don’t know what you’re deal is but you can’t just – “ Stiles stopped talking because the wolf suddenly shifted. One moment, there was a giant, black wolf and then the next, there was Derek Hale. 

Stiles froze where he lay on the ground, upper body supported with his elbows behind him. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. Two years. Derek had been dead for two years…and yet here he sat in front of him. 

“ I…” Stiles tried, “You…” 

Derek looked up to meet Stiles’ eyes.

“Derek.” 

And then Derek was on him, shoving him back down with the force of his hug. Derek wrapped one of his arms around Stiles’ back from under his left arm, and the other hand went up to hold the back of Stiles’ head. He pressed his face into the right side of Stiles’ neck, just like he had when he was a wolf, and Stiles finally broke. He was pretty sure his wail could be heard all the way back in Beacon Hills but he just couldn’t care. He wrapped his arms around the Alpha and cried. 

Stiles has no idea how long he must have held onto Derek and just let it all out. All of the pain and fear and anger coming out in sobs and yells and cries. Eventually, his sobs turned into softer cries, and then more into hiccup cries than anything else.

“I – I almost shot you!” Stiles was suddenly horrified. His face was buried into Derek’s shoulder, which started to click into his brain that it was Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s very naked shoulder. 

“You didn’t.” 

“But I almost did! I almost killed you!”

“You didn’t.” Derek said again. Stiles was about to reply when, the next thing Stiles knew, Derek was running his tongue over Stiles’ neck. 

Stiles.exe stopped working. 

About the fourth lick in, Stiles finally rebooted. “Uh…Der?”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing?”

And with that, Derek froze, as if he had just realized it himself. 

“And where have you been?” Stiles asked.

Derek lifted his head sheepishly to meet Stiles’ eyes. “It turns out, whatever Kate did to me, made me evolve. I had lost my abilities but then, when I was shot, something just…clicked. Next thing I knew, I was a full shift wolf. But something was wrong. I couldn’t turn back.”

“What was wrong?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t know. It’s like I lost the tie to my anchor. My wolf just lost it and I took off running.”

Stiles lifted himself back up onto his elbows and clocked his head a little. “You lost the tie to…your anger? Dude how is that even possible?”

“Stiles.” 

“You are like, the embodiment of anger!”

“Stiles.”

“Your eyebrows can hold whole arguments without even – “ 

“Stiles!” Derek put force behind it, eyes glowing in the process.

“Sorry.” The younger man all but squeaked.

“It’s okay.” Derek said, lowering his head back down and Stiles heard him take a large breath and then his neck was being licked again.

“Derek, not that I’m not over the moon to see you, because I am. I so am.” Stiles breath caught in his throat.

“Hmm.” Was the only response he got.

“But…why do you keep doing that?” 

“Hmm?” Derek lifted his head again to look at Stiles.

“The, um, licking, thing.” One of Stiles’ hands lifted to gesture wildly around his throat.

“Sorry…” Derek said softly, almost as a whisper. 

“No no! Don’t apologize! I’m just…that’s new…” He trailed off. 

“I’ve been a wolf for the last two years. Some instincts are just…hard to break.” Derek looked down, breaking their eye contact.

“What instincts?” Stiles asked.

Derek was silent for such a long time, Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek was actually going to answer when Derek suddenly asked, “Why?”

“Why…what? Dude, you’re going to have to elaborate a little more.” 

“Your tattoo.” 

And just like that, realization slammed into Stiles like an 18-wheeler truck. The tattoo. His tattoo. The triskelion. The Hale family symbol.

“Oh fuck!” Stiles nearly shouted and used his hand to cover it up, only for it to be met with Derek’s saliva. He pulled his hand away and looked at it, seeing the spit. Then he looked at Derek. Then back at his hand. Then back at Derek. Then back at his hand.

“You…you were licking it?”

And just like that Derek turned red. Stiles would have laughed if he wasn’t laying under a very naked Derek Hale. A very naked, living Derek Hale who kept licking his neck. Kept licking his tattoo. 

“Why?” Derek asked again.

“Oh…uh…” And honestly? Stiles couldn’t think of a good lie. He watched Derek who just watched him. Eyes locked on like he was listening to Stiles even though Stiles wasn’t talking. “I…It’s your family’s crest.” 

“I know.” 

“You died.”

“I know.”

“And you left me behind.” The tears were back in Stiles’ eyes, his throat constricting, his chest tightening.

Derek whined and pressed his face back into Stiles’ neck and just held him. 

“You can’t – you can’t do that Derek…” Stiles got out. “You can’t leave me behind.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Derek whispered into his neck.

“I missed you.” 

“I know.”

“I missed you so much.” 

Derek nuzzled Stiles’ neck. “You.” 

“What?” 

“My anchor. You are my anchor.” 

“I’m your…” 

“You brought me back.” 

All Stiles could say was, “You came back.” And he held on to his wolf a little tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on Tumblr!
> 
> https://staffofoppression.tumblr.com/


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